


The Drowning Reflex

by FrogFacey



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Blood, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pretty Odd era Panic!, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:11:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrogFacey/pseuds/FrogFacey
Summary: Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness born from unrequited love, where the patient coughs and throws up flower petals until their love is either requited or they suffocate. The flowers may be removed through surgery but the feelings and memories of that person disappear along with the flowers.





	The Drowning Reflex

_It's called the drowning reflex._  
_When you're submerged, your trachea closes in order to stop a fatal inhalation of water._  
_The same thing can happen when you get something stuck in a certain part of your throat. It's why people choke to death in restaurants._

 

Ryan heaved again, banging his hands on the sink in desperation. He was well past the belief that he wasn't choking and was now trying his hardest to heave the flowers up into the sink.

The pain didn't come in waves like people said it did, it fucking burned. A long, continuous stretch of searing pain. Ryan found a small window of time in his panic filled brain to thank any god out there that it wasn't roses.

He hadn't taken a breath in what seemed like hours, his head didn't like that. Neither did his lungs, fingers or toes. He felt his throat close tighter around the bouquet slowly forming deep in his lungs.

He gripped the edge of the sink and tried to cough again, only adding to the red, angry burning in his throat.

He stared at himself in the mirror, the bathroom had become a narrow tunnel and black spots danced in his vision, but he could see his spit, blood and petal covered face. Colourful stains graced his cheeks, lips and chin and petals he hadn't expelled from his mouth were hiding under his tongue and between his teeth.

He was disgusting.

The words "You're dying Ryan." were repeated over and over inside his head, "There's no one here to help you. This is your fault."

The roaring in his ears became louder, slowly morphing into an unbearable ringing until...

Nothing.  
Ryan could hear nothing.

In a brilliant lapse in thought, Ryan closed his eyes, possibly to try and shut up his brain, slowly he felt himself lose balance, his grip on the sink loosening.

As his head hit the ground, he was plunged into a state of peace. His head repeated once more "You're dying." before he felt darkness slowly pull him in.

 

It had started months ago, Ryan recalled, he had been sitting on his bed with his battered, old guitar when he had felt the telltale heaviness in his lungs and a tickle in his throat. He had unwrapped his scarf from his neck to try and help but it wouldn't go away.

Soon his body decided that the only way to get rid of his discomfort was to cough. So he did.

Imagine his surprise when he saw a deep red petal, wet and torn laying on his palm.

The panic had set in slowly at first, but soon he was cowering at the head of his bed from the petal as if it could kill him then and there.

Who was it?

 

_WHO WAS IT?_

 

A tear or two may have slipped out as he held his hands over his mouth, scared of coughing anything else up.

He may of considered writing a will. Spencer would get his guitar, Jon could get his hat that he was jealous of and Brendon...Ryan hadn’t known Brendon for very long, what would Brendon get?

He could...He could get his vinyls. 

Ryan had sunk onto the head of the bed, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

He’d had crushes before, but never this bad. He’d never had Hanahaki before, he didn’t realise it would hurt this much.

Ryan coughed again.

And again.

And again.

Soon there was three petals, vibrant and intact, three different colours lying on his open palm.

So there was more than one.

 

Ryan remembered how he found out how hard it was to expel the flowers from his lungs. He would cough himself awake most nights, he had spent most of every morning trying to hack up the fauna that had collected the night before. It was like a cold, but worse and more painful.

 

There were five different flowers in all. The colours tended to bleed together when he coughed them up though. Ryan didn’t really care about what types of flowers they were, if he did he might have gone to an expert or something, but he didn’t really feel the need.

He just knew that they were bad news.

 

“Ryan are you okay?” Jon had asked while shaking his shoulders during band practice, “You seem out of it man.”

Ryan nodded, albeit halfheartedly and shrugged, “I’m fine.” 

“You’re sick Ry.” Jon raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing Ryan.

“It’s just a cold.” Ryan coughed again, it hurt his throat and chest like nothing else, but he tried his hardest to hide it. “I’m fine.”

“You can tell us anything Ryan, beleive me. Even Brendon, he’s not that bad of a guy you know.”

 

Brendon was better than Ryan at everything.  
Better hair, better voice, better at guitar.  
Ryan didn’t know if he should have been proud of him or jealous.  
It was both really.

Brendon was friendly, really friendly. He could see why Jon and Spencer liked him. Such a confident ball of energy.

Ryan sat next to him at any available moment, he had probably gotten pretty irritating. He just wanted to be better friends with him. His Dad had always said he needed to be more open with people.

Brendon called him Ryro, Ryan called Brendon B. Brendon would ruffle his hair after he had spent ages trying to get it sit right and Ryan would wrap his scarf around Brendon’s neck to get his attention.

 

Ryan had cried a lot at night, his sobs muffled with coughs and petals.  
He didn’t want to die.  
Not this young anyway.

 

“Ryan.” Brendon sat down on his bed, plucking at the strings of his old guitar, “Are you alright?”

Ryan had shrugged, or maybe he shook his head, but one thing lead to another and Brendon had him in his arms, rubbing his back like how Brendon’s mother used to when he was sick.

Ryan coughed up a whole flower that night. A delicate purple one with thin, curved petals like a starfish.

 

When it got worse, it became noticeable. His lips would be stained with muted purples and pinks when he woke up, there were dark bags under his eyes from the little sleep he got and his skin was gradually getting paler and paler. 

He didn’t go outside.

Most days he couldn’t.

Brendon would take him along on walks sometimes, it was nice when Ryan wouldn’t have to excuse himself to cough up blood speckled fauna, when he did, Brendon would notice.

Ryan wasn’t sure if he knew what it was or not.

 

“Are you alright Ryan?” Spencer asked from behind his drumkit, “You’re not high again, are you?”

Ryan shook his head and rubbed his red eyes. He had been crying again.

“Trust me guys, I’m fine.”

Brendon had shaken his head and walked from his stool over to ryan, he rubbed his forearms reassuringly and rested his head on top of his. “Ryan, you look like shit. You’re not fine.”

Ryan couldn’t help but sigh and lean against him, if he leaned back just far enough, he could feel Brendon’s chest against his back. “Fine, I’m sick.”

Brendon had interrupted him, “More than just sick man, don’t think we haven’t heard you hacking up your lungs every ten minutes.”

Ryan remembered feeling the familiar uncomfortable swirling in his stomach and having to -reluctantly and with much persuasion from his gut- shrug brendon off him and dump his guitar on the floor to run to the bathroom, blurting out an apology as he scurried away.

 

He had thrown up whole flowers, stems and all, into the toilet bowl. Leaves and petals clogged up every small crevice in his mouth as he lurched over and over, colorful and sad looking flowers falling gracelessly from his mouth, followed by thin trails of blood. 

Ryan clumsily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, slumping over the toilet bowl with a tired sigh.

Someone had been rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles since the retching had stopped, when he looked up he saw that it was Spencer.

 

“It’s Brendon isn’t it?”

Spencer’s message glared up at him in bold text, he didn’t even have to specify, Ryan knew immediately what he was talking about.

“You need to tell him.”

The soft ping of his phone told him that Spencer had sent him another text, that would have been helpful if Ryan wasn’t already staring at the screen with eagle eyes. Mysty and sleepy eagle eyes.

_“I can’t”_

Ryan had been guilted into relationships before, he didn’t want to do that to Brendon, not with something as serious as this. He didn’t want to force someone like Brendon to love him just because of some stupid disease.

“You’ll die.”

_“I know.”_

“Ryan.”

Even through text he could hear Spencer’s firm tone, the one he used when things were serious.

“I can’t lose you too.”

 

Ryan coughed up bouquets and bouquets of flowers, it only got worse when Brendon was around, he was dying.

Spencer would get his old, battered up guitar, Jon would get his hat that he was so jealous of and Brendon would get his vinyls and a long, long apology letter.

Ryan could tell that he didn’t have long left, Spencer could too.

He had spent every hour he could telling Ryan that confessing Brendon and forcing him to love him would be so, so much better than dying. So much better than leaving them.

Ryan had spent every hour he could telling Spencer that he was sorry and to take care of his stuff when he was gone.

He felt guilty, he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, especially not Spencer.

Spencer, his best friend since he was five. The one he trusted the most.

 

Ryan remembered, very, very clearly, going into the bathroom that afternoon. 

He remembered choking.

He remembered banging on the sink in desperation. 

He remembered hearing nothing.

He remembered falling.

Falling…

Falling…

Untill…

 

“Ryan.”

It was faint, coming from somewhere in the darkness, but he heard it, only slightly.

“Ryan please.” 

It was louder, clearer only just, now the darkness wasn’t as big, wasn’t as dark.

He felt something heavy on his lips.

That’s what caused reality to come crashing back down on him like a ton of bricks.

 

The bathroom was bright, too bright, it seemed to reflect off of every tile in the room and Ryan couldn’t help but squint as his eyes became less and less fuzzy.

He coughed. It didn’t hurt this time.

“Oh thank god. Ryro, you dumbass, it’s me.”

Ryan slowly became aware of his surroundings, he was cradled in Brendon’s lap, being rocked slowly. Brendon was combing his fingers through Ryan’s hair, his hair that had a very worrying damp patch at the back.

“Spencer told me everything. Oh god I thought I’d lost you.”

His voice broke.

Shit.

He’d been crying.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Ryan swallowed and took a shaky breath, “I…” he tested out his voice, it sounded like gravel being crunched under tires, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Brendon sighed and gently pushed Ryan’s head into the crook of his neck, “You coughed up that after I kissed you.”

He gestured towards a slowly crumpling pile of sorry looking flowers lying on the bathroom floor.

“You..?”

Brendon shushed him, chuckling lightly.

“How else would I have cured you?”

He paused for a second to gather up Ryan.

“Just...Breathe. No more talking, okay? I...I love you.”

 

_It's called the drowning reflex._  
_When you're submerged, your trachea closes in order to stop a fatal inhalation of water._  
_The unfortunate thing is that it also happens when foreign objects, even flowers, come in contact with the trachea._  


_It’s called the drowning reflex and it’s what could have killed Ryan Ross._

**Author's Note:**

> Dark red carnations represent love and affection.
> 
> Striped carnations represent regret of a love that cannot be shared.
> 
> Pink Camellias represent longing.
> 
> Gardenias say "I love you" and represent secret love.
> 
> Purple hyacinth represent sorrow and ask for forgiveness.


End file.
